


Ice Supernova

by reenka



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam contemplates Starbucks, Adam does hockey, Alternate Universe, Blue is very sensible, Christmas Fluff, Ice Skating, M/M, Meet-Cute, POV Adam, Pre-The Raven Boys, Ronan Lynch is Bad at Feelings, Ronan is a sk8er boi, Skating, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, denial is not just a river in egypt, more or less
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9000442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reenka/pseuds/reenka
Summary: Ronan is a figure skating maniac in black, Adam is a dilettante hockey player. Adam is confused but strangely fixated. See literal chasing and Adam's awkward courtship ensue. Flavored lattes may be involved.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a Secret Santa, but sadly unwanted. I'm very happy to have finished a fic, though. My first proper, finished fic in years and years. Woo-hoo!

*

It's not that Adam loved hockey. Well, he didn't hate hockey, exactly, but he didn't love it. He had two crap jobs and he'd just applied to Aglionby Academy, which meant he had to make absolutely sure his grades were up as high as they could go. He didn't really know what possessed him, except for the dark desire for extracurricular activities, and the fact that say, tennis or rowing didn't allow you to explain away stray bruises. Hockey was ideal in that regard. Adam made sure he got checked as regularly as possible. And he did like coming to the rink to practice in the early morning, when there was no one else there. 

When there was _normally_ no one else there.

For the last three Mondays, there was an odd-looking boy skating at just past 4am, when Adam got there. He had a savage, thunderous face, with his head shaved and his tight black tank top. Who wore a tank top and ripped black jeans to skate, anyway?

This was not a rhetorical question for Adam, because he'd spent the last few of his precious, solitary Monday mornings watching the boy skate as if he was slicing his enemies' faces open with the blades. His speed was phenomenal. He'd be much better at hockey than Adam if he wanted to be, probably, except then Adam would see him jump-- three, sometimes four tight turns and a powerful landing-- so he figured that was probably right out. Adam thought he hated him, although he had to admit (if only to himself) that maybe he admired him just a little. 

He saw him at Nino's a few times with his friends, in passing. Blue had sharpened a special tooth on one of the friends in question, so any associates were guilty by association. Adam could certainly understand that. Clearly this was an Aglionby boy, as silent, blank-faced and pretentious as the rest of them. Not worth another second of his time, except for this: he looked so _alive_ here, on the ice. He was so alive.

Adam didn't mean to put on his own skates. It's not like he actually needed the extra practice time, and he was going to quit the team soon. He won't have any time to spare if-- when-- he was at Aglionby. But there he was, doing the basic warm-up exercises as if the savage wasn't right at the gates. And in a while, he actually did forget he wasn't alone. The rink was large, and they were content to divide it equally.

By next Monday, Adam didn't hesitate.

* 

A month later, and they still hadn't exchanged a greeting, or even looked at each other openly. Not that Adam was concerned-- or interested, for that matter. He did think that the other boy was showing off sometimes, but what did _he_ know?

Adam did grow a little bored, too, and it wasn't like he had to keep up appearances here. It wasn't like the black-clad skater looked likely to appreciate the effort. This wasn't a thought process so much as its determined lack. Adam didn't have to game this out, so he didn't.

Adam simply started chasing him, seeing how fast he really was. There was no hockey stick in sight, but the instincts were there. He didn't even realize the other boy had stopped jumping and spinning, and was playing along. He was making an effort, doubling back or speeding up at points. He was _grinning_. 

Adam knew he was being an idiot. The savage was probably just bored. Then again, so was _he_. This was simply a race, and Adam was simply alive.

Some indeterminate time later, the boy laughed, pulling off the ice with a spin and a bow. "Gotta go, Parrish," he called out. "Take a rain check!" 

*

"Why?" Blue demanded when Adam told her. She was taking her lunch break in the corner table at Nino's that was usually theirs. She chewed on a mushroom she'd lifted shamelessly from Adam's pizza. She wouldn't have held back if she'd wanted a whole bite, too. There was definitely a reason Adam used to think he loved her. "It's not like it matters, does it."

"Yeah, but." He chewed at his lip, immediately berating himself. Why did he always have a tell? "He already knows my name. I just have to know _how_. And then I have to know his, because otherwise he'll think he's got something on me. You know how they are." 

"True," Blue said pensively. "You know, though, he probably just heard someone call you that here. You're around often enough. Or, you know, it could've happened somewhere in town."

"I don't know. Do you believe in coincidences, Blue?"

She gave him a look. "Just because some things are fate doesn't mean there are no coincidences, okay." She stole another mushroom, waving it at him. "Though I'll admit that he probably _remembered_ it because he was interested." She raised her eyebrows. "In the information, I mean."

It was a good thing that Adam wasn't the blushing kind, but Blue's raised eyebrows said she didn't require proof to know that Adam was paying too much attention to this. He definitely thought he was better off saying nothing and keeping his dignity.

"I'll ask the boss."

"Thanks," he said, smiling genuinely, because he knew that Blue would help no matter what from the start.

*

Adam started training more seriously, telling himself he had several months of winter to go before he had to worry about the school transfer application process. After getting used to getting up that early on Mondays, it wasn't a huge leap to do it on Wednesdays and Fridays, too. It wasn't like Adam was getting that much rest with his father always a few doors away, anyway.

He wanted to be good, and he knew he would be. Adam was used to seeing results when he set a goal and put in the required effort. This case was no different than the rest, and by mid-February, he knew the results were there. He could finally stop holding back on Mondays, and see if it was a surprise.

Adam gave chase immediately, and the boy-- Ronan Lynch, his name was-- gave as good as he got. They were breathless and a little winded almost an hour later, panting as they bent over against the edge of the rink, hands on their knees. Lynch glanced at him, and his grin was sharp enough to cut. It was sharper in close-up, too.

"Much better, Parrish. That was a real work-out."

"You haven't seen nothin' yet, Lynch," Adam said, grinning in spite of himself.

Ronan laughed, bumping his fist. He looked unsurprised (the bastard!) "Bring it on."

* 

Their eyes met at Nino's. It was an accident, since Adam just happened to look up from his textbook, sipping at his endless cup of coffee refills. He did his best studying in places with a higher noise volume than the standard at home or in the library. Several exams were looming, so he stretched out his one coffee cup to a frankly unhealthy degree this weekend. He knew that he'd probably run into people he knew if he stayed here long enough, but that wasn't his concern, was it?

Lynch was still wearing the omnipresent tank top beneath his leather jacket. He was a walking cliche. Although (Adam thought generously), he probably had more than one of those things in his closet. Maybe a whole section full of nothing but identical black tank tops. He seemed like the type. 

Adam could also glimpse the tattoo that peeked out at the sides of his neck. He'd been mildly curious, since that's an unusual place for an Aglionby student to get a tattoo. Of course, if Adam wanted to be fair, he was well-aware that Ronan Lynch was not a typical Aglionby student in many ways (although he was in some others).

Lynch smirked, then turned away. Why did he smirk? And why was the boy next to Lynch eyeing Adam speculatively? Nothing unusual had happened... had it?

Adam didn't have time to think about pointless things like that. He took a fortifying sip of his black coffee, scowling, and went back to the cold embrace of AP Calculus.

Somehow, Adam wasn't even surprised when he ran into Lynch's friend when the boy's car broke down on the side of the road that Tuesday. He was Richard Gansey (call him Gansey), apparently. Adam would have left him there, and he really should have, but it was like he knew him now, ridiculous as that seemed. Anyway, when Gansey asked Adam to teach him how to fix it himself, he couldn't help being drawn in. There was something pleasantly unexpected about him. A lot of somethings, if he were honest. The fact that Adam didn't have a phone was probably the only thing that stopped them from exchanging numbers by the end of the hour, which is something Adam couldn't even imagine himself contemplating before Gansey. He actually felt a little sad he didn't have a cellphone. It was like magic. Gansey's own mild-mannered kind of magic, in any case. It was nothing like the blinding, savage light that Lynch seemed to emit like a supernova (though he was more like a black hole, Adam corrected himself), or Blue's shower of powerful sparkles that spread out in waves all around her immediate vicinity.

Adam kept waiting for Gansey to mention something about Lynch, but he never did. By the end of the day, he was seriously wondering if he'd imagined that odd look at Nino's. Or maybe Lynch was Lynch and Gansey was Gansey, and there was no use thinking about this or getting involved further. That was probably it.

Then Gansey showed up at his shift at Boyd's garage, smoothly offering to provide pointers if Adam needed help to write the entrance essay for Aglionby. Adam hadn't even said he was planning on transferring by that point. In the end, he just sighed and told Gansey he was willing to listen, but that didn't mean he would change what he was about to say. 

Gansey told him he'd never expected him to, with absolute, perfect sincerity.

The man was some kind of mad genius, really.

*

The next Monday, Adam actually caught up to Lynch, who didn't skip a beat. He simply started chasing _Adam_.

*

They still didn't talk, really, on the ice or off it, like when Gansey brought him home to Monmouth Manufacturing. Lynch was usually in his room or sitting on the floor by Gansey's bed with his headphones on, eyes closed regally. It was fine, honestly. Adam knew how to take a hint, except that Ronan still smiled at him on Monday mornings, and he was honest enough with himself to acknowledge that he liked it.

He didn't know what he was thinking this time, because he wasn't one to waste money on lattes, of all things. Still, there he was. Adam looked straight into Ronan's eyes like he had nothing to be embarrassed about. If he was going to do this, best to brazen it out.

"Thought you might need a pick-me-up at this ungodly hour," he said, handing Ronan Lynch an eggnog latte. He was trying a pumpkin spice. If he was going to live a little, he might as well live a lot. Maybe he should use this opportunity to get a third job at Starbucks; prepare for Aglionby life. 

Ronan took a sip and sighed a bit, eyelids fluttering (was that teasing or pleasure? Jesus.) "That really hits the spot, actually." Ronan smiled a bit, looking just a bit shy for a second, before the usual sarcastic expression asserted itself. "Wouldn't have pegged you for a sweet tooth, Parrish."

Adam huffed, rolling his eyes at him. "Look who's talking. Who's the one all but shuddering in pleasure at the taste of pumpkin syrup here? Not me, that's for sure."

Ronan shot him a death glare, but his cheeks were definitely rosier than they had been a minute ago. "I'm going to destroy you today."

"Go ahead. I brought you the caffeinated sugar for a reason." Adam grinned.

Ronan grinned back, then raced off without even finishing his drink. 

"Going to stand there and watch me go, Parrish?"

Adam hid his face with the paper cup, before he threw it across from him to the stands and took off after Ronan.

*

The next time Adam was at Monmouth Manufacturing, Adam noted that Ronan now listened to his music with his eyes open. 

"Want a listen?" Ronan said, all casual. He was lounging at his usual spot, leaned up against Gansey's mattress.

"Why not? Gansey won't be back for at least 10 minutes." Naturally, they could have gotten delivery, but Adam thought the reason for the pizza run may or may not have had something to do with a certain waitress. The one that always gave Gansey way too much of a hard time for his need to be liked (and/or his teenage hormones) to handle.

Adam put the headphones on and almost immediately regretted his choice, as a wall of awful noise assaulted his eardrums. _Squash one, squash two_ \-- Ronan was almost rolling on the floor laughing at the look on Adam's face.

"Got you but good, Parrish." He was giggling like a four year old as he took the headphones back. "Didn't realize who you were dealing with, did you?"

Adam wanted to be irritated, but Ronan looked so... happy. For a few moments, the savage delinquent he'd gotten to know developed soft, fuzzy edges, and was that a _dimple_? Wow.

In spite of himself, Adam smiled. "I guess maybe I didn't," he said.

*

Sure enough, by the time April rolled around, Adam had indeed found that he had to cut back on his extra practice times. He took that third job at Starbucks after all, though he still got up in time to make it to the ice rink once a week around 4am. These days he was back to watching Ronan skate, often quietly holding two drinks. This time, he was absolutely certain that the slim but harshly sculpted, black-clad savage on the ice really was performing for his benefit.

The program was getting progressively softer recently, more and more nakedly artistic rather than being a demonstration of pure strength and skill. It suited Ronan.

He landed in front of Adam's seat on the bench, his last breathtaking jump on instant replay in Adam's mind. He had a few suggestions, a few questions he wanted to ask, but he was saving it for the right time. He was sure Ronan must have a coach... or at least he used to. He knew Ronan's father and his coach were killed violently almost a year ago. It was all over the news at the time, though Gansey didn't really broach the subject directly. There were certain things that Adam didn't need to hear out loud in order to understand, though. Come to think of it, he was an idiot to think Ronan had actually gotten a new coach. Adam knew he wasn't competing anymore, in any case. This early-morning routine was supposed to be a secret, obviously. A time just for Ronan.

Without a word, Adam handed Ronan his latte, and the other boy gulped it down. He still got that blissful look at the flavored lattes, though Adam could tell he tried to hide it a bit better. At least he wasn't making orgasmic eyelid twitches anymore (not that Adam remembered it that well, really).

Grinning, Adam sipped at his own coffee (black), glad for something to occupy himself with. Seeing Ronan in his element on the ice always left him feeling buzzed and energized as much as the coffee, if not more. It certainly helped keep him going through all the work and classes still ahead of him. "You're getting better," Adam said quietly, after a moment.

"Really?" Ronan's face was open, for once. Adam wondered if maybe people didn't compliment him as much as they should, though that was kind of a ridiculous thought.

"Of course. You're brilliant. I really like all the new-- you know--" Adam waved a hand with a flourish. "You know I don't know all the technical names. I could, though."

Ronan smirked, but it wasn't very sharp at all. "I know you could, Parrish."

"Would you like me to?"

There was a beat, and Ronan took another sip, trying to hide his face. "Um. Sure. Yeah. Can't hurt to learn things." He coughed, moving off the ice to clean the blades.

"I think I will, then," Adam said, gazing intently at Ronan's bent figure.

When Ronan straightened and met his eyes, they both blushed.

"You know something, Parrish," Ronan said slowly.

"What?" Adam breathed. His whole body was buzzing, for some reason. He missed their old races right about then.

"How many has this been, now?" Ronan looked off to the side, clearly trying to estimate, before he gave up. That's what happens when you don't apply yourself in math class, Adam thought distantly, but he didn't answer Ronan. He felt frozen in place. "I think I owe you a coffee, Parrish," Ronan continued, not looking away. It was a challenge.

Adam Parrish never backed away from a challenge.

"You know, I think you do," Adam said.

*


End file.
